Just Friends
by Fanwoman
Summary: Science can't solve everything. After surviving the Wraith attack, McKay is forced to deal with feelings he's denied or risk being destroyed by them.
1. Bile

NOTES: Sometimes TV shows can really piss me off. I borrowed Rodney to express my vexation. It's not a happy fic; McWeir fans be warned. There are other, happier fics in the works; I just needed to get this out of my system. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this.

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through The Siege, Part III

RATING: T

* * *

JUST FRIENDS 

BILE

It took him by surprise, completely blindsiding him.

The battle against the Wraith had been emotionally and physically exhausting. So many people had been lost and injured, including one of his teammates, and there had been countless close calls and endless pressure to pull off the impossible. After recovering from overdosing on stimulants and the resulting collapse; after overcoming the invasion's horrors to the point where he didn't feel the obsessive need to carry his P90 everywhere he went; after having started adjusting to the reality of having a ZPM and the Daedalus around, Dr. Rodney McKay began to deal with the larger world again on a more normal basis, or as normal a basis as he ever had. That was when he'd heard.

Dr. Elizabeth Weir, leader of the Atlantis expedition, had greeted the returning Major John Sheppard with a hug--right there in the middle of the Gate room! Sure, Sheppard had miraculously survived a suicide mission--and Rodney himself would probably have hugged the man had he been there--but for some reason, this idle bit of gossip caused him to feel cheated. Worse, it seemed Elizabeth and the Major had been spending off-duty time together, not that Elizabeth ever had much.

Hadn't he saved the city by installing the ZPM to power the shields? Didn't they get a ZPM _and_ the Daedalus in time to protect them and access to their home galaxy because of his plan to send a message back to Earth? Hadn't he saved Atlantis many times before? _Where the hell was his hug!_

It was like having something precious stolen from him, and he was left with an insatiable ache in his chest. It hurt. Why did it hurt?

Without explaining the catalyst, he talked to Dr. Carson Beckett, who was alarmed and immediately tested him for a heart attack. The rhythm of his heart was slightly irregular. Suspecting it was a side effect of stimulant abuse, Carson gave him medication to stabilize his heart rate and advised him to get regular exercise and drink lots of water, not that he seemed to think Rodney would do either.

He talked to Dr. Kate Heightmeyer, but without telling her what had caused this reaction in him, all she could do was walk him through grief management and post trauma exercises.

It was when Teyla cornered him in the mess hall one day that he finally realized what was causing it all.

It was the first time he'd eaten outside his lab since he'd heard about Elizabeth and the Major. Although he'd chosen a table in a corner, away from other diners, and brought several reports to give the look of being too busy to disturb, it wasn't long before a shadow fell across his meal. His stomach twisted, but he was oddly relieved to find it was only Teyla.

"May I join you?"

Teyla and Rodney had saved each others' lives on numerous occasions, though the most recent incident had involved her coming to his rescue. A small shudder ran through him as he recalled facing a pair of Wraith with nothing but a handgun and bravado inspired by fatigue, fear and frustration. If Teyla hadn't arrived when she did, he wouldn't have been around to install the ZPM and they'd all be dead. He didn't really want company, but who was he to deny her a seat? He gave her a nod and gestured to the spot across from him with a fork full of pasta.

Setting her tray on the table, she lowered herself gracefully into the chair. "How have you been, Doctor? I have not seen you as of late." She said it mildly enough, but there was something searching about her gaze.

Looking away, he turned a page of the report on waste disposal he'd been reviewing and swallowed. "Well enough. Between the damage to the city and the Daedalus, there aren't enough hours in the day to deal with everything." Not wanting to talk about himself, he turned the conversation to her. "I suppose reestablishing the encampment on the mainland has kept you busy, too?"

"In focusing their attention on Atlantis, it seems the Wraith overlooked our village." From the corner of his eye, Rodney saw her stab listlessly at her salad. "Although some are petitioning to live here in the city, the resettlement has gone smoothly, and none of my people were lost." Even caught up in his own concerns and not particularly well versed in the moods of the Athosian leader, he could tell something was wrong; she radiated tension.

"It's a shame what happened to Ford, huh?" He closed the folder; it wasn't a topic to be discussed with divided attention.

She nodded. "I have consulted with the Athosian elders, and none have ever heard of such a thing happening before. To become dependent on that with which the Wraith use to prepare you for death... It is deeply disturbing."

They had only recently discovered Teyla possessed some Wraith DNA, the legacy of an experiment conducted generations ago. The knowledge had caused her understandable dread. Perhaps this put her situation into perspective? She had lived with the taint of the enemy within her all her life yet had never become deranged nor turned against her friends, as Ford had. Actually, she was one of the most stable, controlled people Rodney had ever met. Sometimes he envied her that. "Carson's working on a possible solution..."

"With the Lieutenant having fled through the Stargate, how can we hope to administer a cure?"

Ford had been so energetic and full of life. Even with Carson's explanations of how addiction could change a person, it was difficult to believe the jovial young officer was not lost to them forever. They both lapsed into silence, poking unenthusiastically at their food. Rodney could somehow sense Ford's unknown fate wasn't what was causing the subtle strain that haunted Teyla's every movement and look. Inexplicably, he felt the need to ask about the source of his personal torment.

"So... You heard about Elizabeth and the Major?" He tried to say it lightly. Perhaps he could show himself that he was making much ado about nothing, that it didn't matter to anyone else, but he was surprised by the visible flicker of pain that crossed Teyla's face, a brief knitting of her normally smooth brow. Wide and unguarded, looking into her eyes was like looking into her, and her anguish mirrored his own. Hadn't he always though Teyla and the Major were involved?

"You love him," he whispered in awe.

"It is the same for you, is it not?" There was no pity, just sad recognition.

That was how Rodney figured out he was in love with Elizabeth.

How had he not known? How had _she_ not known? Wasn't Elizabeth supposed to be a diva of perception? It all made sense, now--the reason he'd felt snubbed when she'd said she'd be sending a personal message back to Earth, the reason having her attention pleased him, the reason her voice soothed him, the reason he'd been more terrified when a gun had been pulled on her than in any other life-threatening situation before or since.

This realization caused bile to rise in his throat. He stood and ran to the nearest bathroom to vomit his lunch into the sink. Using his ATA gene, he locked the doors with a thought, drew in a ragged breath and heaved again, losing his breakfast. He kept at it long after his stomach was empty, becoming lightheaded from the inability to breathe normally. Distantly, he heard a pounding on the doors and worry in Teyla's voice.

"Dr. McKay? Dr. McKay, are you all right?"

Had he ever been? Would he ever be? "I'm okay," he gasped weakly, but somehow she heard.

"Should I contact Dr. Beckett?"

"No!" It came out a little more forcefully than he'd intended, so he tried to cover it with elaboration. "Just something from lunch not agreeing with me, nothing serious." He doubted the ever-observant Athosian would believe his explanation, but by saying it, he could deny it was anything more. It was bad enough Teyla knew; he didn't want Carson dragged into this, too. "I just need some time to myself and I'll be fine."

"Are you certain?" She was plainly doubtful.

"Yes."

"As you wish, Dr. McKay," she replied quietly. "...but if you need someone to talk to...I would be happy to oblige."

Was that resignation he heard? She might be going through the same things he was, but he couldn't help her. How could he when he couldn't help himself? He didn't want to share this feeling--he wanted to run from it, as far and as fast as he could. He wanted to hide from it; he wanted to refute it; he wanted it to go away. Talking about it would only make it more real.

After that, his already low appetite diminished to almost nothing, and he couldn't bring himself to spend much time with anyone, least of all Elizabeth or the Major. When he saw them, the ache in his chest seemed to want to burst out of him. Sometimes, he almost wished it would; it hurt that much. Fortunately, there were plenty of systems to repair and more to be explored, thanks to the power of the ZPM. He had no time for offworld missions and could simply FTP his reports to Elizabeth. There was no need to see either one of them and lots to keep him distracted.


	2. Trash

NOTES: Rodney has his say. Some might find it offensive, so consider yourselves warned. It's not a happy fic--beware, McWeir fans. PurpleYin, thank you for betaing this.

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through The Siege, Part III

RATING: T

* * *

JUST FRIENDS 

TRASH

The battle with the Wraith had left Dart wreckage and structural damage all over the city. Anything large and intact enough to be worthy of study had already been hauled into a spare room near the main laboratories, but there was plenty of junk yet to be dealt with. Despite that they only used a fraction of the city, for structural and security reasons a cleanup had begun. Elizabeth was opposed to merely tossing everything into the sea. She argued the Ancients must have had a means of dealing with this sort of thing, so Rodney had been told to come up with another solution.

The next day found him on his knees, waist-deep in the optic cable innards of a particular floor panel he hoped would give him the solution to his trash transport problem. Behind him was piled a collection of bits and pieces ranging from fist-sized rubble to mangled Dart nosecones. He'd instructed it all be brought to this platform near the West Pier because he believed that from this location he could access an industrial waste disposal system. According to schematics, there were three in the city. This one was the closest to several crash sites and seemed to be in the best repair, though the control device on the far side of the heap had proved uncooperative. If he could figure out how it worked, then he should be able to fix the others.

Dr. Peter Grodin had discovered the standard waste system they were currently using, but Peter was gone, destroyed along with the Ancient defensive space platform that had been detected by another deceased colleague. Even after the battle with the Wraith, there were still more civilian than military deaths among those who had come with the original expedition. Sure, the academics had outnumbered the Marines three to one, but no one had imagined just how hazardous working in Atlantis would be. Rodney had put himself in the path of danger often enough, however reluctantly, yet he was still alive. How had so many others who should have been safe have died, despite the risks he'd taken? Pausing in his work, Rodney took a drink from the water bottle he'd brought along and ran through an exercise Dr. Heightmeyer had taught him. Dwelling on the deaths that way just made him feel guilty, and guilt was unproductive.

Programming and practical issues had never been his forte; they'd been Peter's. Returning to his task, Rodney swore under his breath, feeling damned for having to deal with this himself, even though he _had_ chosen to do it with the intent of escaping from Elizabeth's attempts to contact him in person. It wasn't the first time Rodney had cursed the fates for Peter's loss, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. If Peter was alive, they'd have been done by now. Still, the work was out of doors, and the fresh air and fresh problem eventually began to work their magic on him. Rodney became so absorbed in his task, he didn't feel the pain that had been plaguing him for the past week, but he also didn't hear the footsteps approaching.

"Rodney?"

"Ah!" He jerked in surprise, nearly smacking his scull on the edge of the opening.

"Didn't mean to startle you." Elizabeth's tone held equal measures of amusement and apology.

He didn't want to talk to her. The sound of her voice was no longer enjoyable; all it did was cause his guts to churn and his heart to ache. Fortunately, all he'd had for breakfast was coffee and water, so chances were he wouldn't throw up, adding insult to injury. Being unprepared to be confronted face to face, alone, by the object of his misery, he felt panic rise along with his bile. Taking a deep breath, he ran through another of the exercises he'd learned from Dr. Heightmeyer, trying to figure out something to say. Apparently he took too long.

"Are you okay?" Was that concern, curiosity or both?

Regardless, he didn't want to answer. "What are you doing down here?" So what if it came out gruffly?

"I thought you could use some lunch." This was accompanied by the inviting sound of something being shaken in an MRE bag.

Poking his head out of his hole and glancing away from her, Rodney noted the shadows had all but disappeared; it was close to noon. Had he really been down there for four hours? No wonder she'd been able to find him.

"Since when have you been put in charge of food distribution? Don't you have something more important you should be doing?" Or someone more important you should be doing it with, he thought glumly.

"I could well ask you the same thing. The shields on the Daedalus need an overhaul yet you're working on a giant garbage disposal?"

"You asked to have it done."

Still he did not face her, so she tried moving into his line of view. He just reached for a tool and used the action as an excuse to turn away and duck his head back into the opening.

"I didn't ask for you to do it personally."

"I wanted to do it."

"Why?"

Half tempted to tell her, he restrained himself. "Look, thanks for coming down and everything. Why don't you just leave the MRE there? I'll get to it when I'm ready."

He could hear her step to the edge of opening, kneeling down to be at his level. Her proximity tore him in two--half of him savoring her closeness, the other cringing from the anguish of having her beside him but knowing she had fallen for someone else.

"Rodney," she said quietly, "when was the last time we had lunch together?"

Unwillingly, he remembered. It had been the day before the second mission to Dagan. They'd had onion soup, fresh baked bread and chopped salad with rice pudding for dessert. The thought of it made his heart sink and his stomach growl.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Sounds like it's time for lunch to me. Besides, when was your last break?"

In spite of his hunger, having her near made him nauseous, but since she seemed to have come expressly to talk with him, he knew his chances of getting her to leave were slim. So he switched tactics. "Fine. I'll eat. Then can I get back to work?" There was a whole ocean ten meters away; if need be, he could relieve himself of his lunch there after she'd left.

"It's a deal." He heard the smile in her voice. How could she smile when he was so miserable? "Why don't you come out of there?" She sat on the edge, dangling her legs into the hole. He'd always liked those legs.

With a sigh, he hauled himself out, sitting so he was at an angle instead of opposite her; that way, it would be easier to avoid looking her in the eye. Carefully setting his diagnostic computer and bottle of water on his right side, like a little barrier between them, he accepted the offered MRE with an unenthusiastic, "Thanks." It was a turkey sandwich with apple sauce and peanut butter crackers; all bland enough he might be able to keep it down. He started with the crackers.

"So how is it coming?" Elizabeth's question was accompanied by the pop of a bottle followed by a few swallows.

"What?" The idea of having a conversation with her was disconcerting enough, but he found he was almost too distracted by the reactions of his innards to pay attention.

"All this." Although he didn't look, he could tell she gestured to the mound of trash behind him. "You going to have this taken care of soon?"

Unable to decide which was more uncomfortable--talking or listening--he chose brevity. "Soon."

"Well, that's precise." It seemed she didn't approve of his answer.

This irked his professional pride. Irked was better than miserable, so he went with it. "I don't know, and I'm disinclined to guess. What do you want from me?"

"You know, the longer it takes to repair the Daedalus, the longer it'll be before we can gate back to Earth." He couldn't help but notice she hadn't answered his question.

"If you want me to stop this to work on the Daedalus, just say so." He bit into his sandwich with needless ferocity.

"I'm not saying you should stop-"

"Then what are you getting at?" Slamming his fist down, he accidentally activated his computer. As a result, he heard a quiet whoosh and felt himself falling backward into darkness. The falling ended quickly with a jarring thud, and Rodney discovered he was half covered in rubble on the floor of a large, dimly lit room--presumably the disposal's final destination. "Great. Just great." Hoping he wasn't about to be incinerated, he scrambled free of the debris. Some small part of himself was proud he hadn't been knocked out from the drop. "Elizabeth?"

"Over here," she coughed.

Unable to see her through the dust and piles of junk, he made his way in the direction from which her voice seemed to be coming. "You okay?"

"I think so." There was grunt followed by a clang of metal and the sound of sliding rubble. "OW!"

"What?"

"My ankle."

Rounding the shell of a Dart engine, Rodney spotted Elizabeth covered in dust, perched on an I-beam and pulling up her left pant leg. Her ankle was already swelling.

"Great. Just Great." He reached up to tap his earpiece only to remember he'd taken it off to avoid having to talk to anyone as he worked. While it was a reasonable practice in his lab, in hindsight, it might not have been the best idea for this project. Unable to recall where he'd last left it, he patted down his pockets to no avail. "I need your radio."

Raising her hand to her ear, she asked, "What happened to yours?"

"I don't know." It was at least half true.

Her eyes widened briefly. "Mine must have fallen out."

They searched around her as best they could only to unearth the broken-off receiver. Of course it couldn't be that easy. Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Rodney paced while going through one of the mental exercises that had become like a mantra for him. It didn't really help much, but it did keep some of the more panicked parts of his brain occupied.

"Okay, you take off your shoes and elevate that foot while I find the way out."

"Then we're...?"

"Inside the disposal? Yes." He could get through this if he just kept his mind on the problem.

"So why hasn't it...?"

"Zapped us into oblivion? I'm thinking it's sensing our life signatures, or mine at least. Ah!"

"What?"

"I found my computer and water bottle." Stuffing the little diagnostic computer into a pocket, he finished off the water and clipped the empty bottle to his belt. The computer would hopefully have recorded what he'd done to activate the trash transport system and make his hours of effort worthwhile, but he was more relieved to have recovered his bottle. Irrationally, he'd become rather fond of it. He found its deep aqua transparency soothing, and its constant presence reassured him. It had become a talisman of his quest for mental and physical health; to have lost it because he was talking with Elizabeth would have been a blow.

There was a door on the far side of the room. It took little effort to open, but he didn't hurry back, contemplating his options. There was no way of knowing if the room would activate once he left. So leaving Elizabeth while he went to bring back help was not an option, but the prospect of having to carry Elizabeth was causing his head to spin and his stomach to rebel. Still, it was the best course of action. Thank goodness he hadn't eaten much.

Taking off his jacket, he rolled it up and wrapped it around his waist. It wasn't as though he'd need it now that he was inside, and it would make the whole process a bit easier. After attaching her shoes to his belt, all that was left was getting Elizabeth on his back. He debated with himself between carrying one leg in each arm or clasping his hands beneath her rear, which would be easier. She had the audacity to chuckle in amusement at his awkwardness. Then again, she seemed oblivious to his feelings, so there was no reason for her to suspect the true impetus behind his discomfort. She was heavier than he'd imagined. The feel of her against him, of her arms around his neck brought tears to his eyes. It didn't matter; she couldn't see him. Maybe she never really had.

Once he'd worked his way around the piles of garbage and into the hall beyond, he paused to catch his breath and activate the door control with an elbow. The heavy bulkhead obediently slid shut with a quiet thud that was followed by a deep hum. The floor vibrated briefly, then all was still. Tapping the control again, the door opened to an empty room.

"Wow," she murmured in his ear.

It caused a thin, sharp pain to slice through his chest, and he shuddered in its wake.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't believe she wanted the real answer, so he made an affirmative-sounding grunt and started off in what he believed was the direction of the nearest transporter. By calculating pi in his head, he could almost ignore the stimulating sensation of her breath against his cheek.

They hadn't been on the move five minutes before she broke the silence. "Rodney?"

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to talk to you." Her voice was cautious, unsure.

"And you think _now_, while I'm carrying you through the bowels of Atlantis, is the right time for this?" he huffed.

"It's about your attitude as of late."

"What of it?" He was pleased he'd managed to say it so offhandedly.

"You seem to be out of sorts, and it's making you difficult to work with."

"Because I'm usually such an easy going guy."

"I know it's been hard, what with losing Peter and Ford and-"

Oh, God. Was she trying to _console_ him! "I've lost no more or less than anyone else." He sounded so sure that he could almost believe it himself.

"Yet you're the only one who has become a hermit." There was censure in her tone.

He refused to get defensive. "Has it affected the results of my work?"

"No, but-"

"Then I don't see the need to discuss it."

"Well, I _do_," she insisted. "You've got Zelenka doing most of your meetings."

"He needs practice for when I'm away." How reasonable that sounded.

"That doesn't explain why you're almost constantly off the radio these days."

"I've been tired." Yes! That was the perfect excuse. "There's still so much to be done, and I'm finding it easier to concentrate without constant interruptions. Anything that really needs my attention gets to me whether I'm on the comm or not."

"You came alone to a remote part of Atlantis to work on a potentially dangerous system and didn't even bring a headset." She spoke with more than a hint of exasperation.

"Like I said, I've been tired."

"If it's just that Zelenka needs practice and you've been tired, then why have you been avoiding me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." His response sounded lame even to his own ears.

"You've barely looked me in the eye since the end of the attack."

Some wild part of his heart wanted to laugh at how personally she was taking it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you mad at me for sending John on a suicide mission?"

Rodney swore under his breath. He _had_ been mad about that at the time. How nice to be reminded of another issue he'd yet to overcome. "I was, but it all turned out fine in the end."

"Then what is it?"

"I thought you loved him." He nearly came to a halt in surprise at his confession.

"John?"

"No, but thank you for confirming my suspicions," he grumbled. Where the hell was that transporter? "I was referring to the man who gave you that necklace you always used to wear--emphasis on the 'used to.'"

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, surely you haven't forgotten about it _already_! The heart shaped one with the diamonds? All this time, I thought you were the kind of woman who'd never dump one guy for another. Even after leaving him back on Earth, your pendant proclaimed your devotion to him for anyone with eyes to see it. I could respect that. It made things simple; it made you safe. No normal woman could put up with me, yet here was this beautiful, brilliant woman who not only didn't treat me like a scourge to womankind but seemed to honestly _care_ about me. And I could revel in being close to her, knowing I'd never risk rejection because she was already seriously involved with someone else."

"You never said anything because of my necklace?" She made it seem so ridiculous, not that he disagreed.

"Yes. What kind of idiot does that make me? Imagine my surprise when I discovered--oh,my!--you _have_ let go of that distant significant other to...how does the song go? Oh, yes, 'love the one you're with'...and that one wasn't _me_."

"What! John and I haven't even-"

"I don't want to know!" snapped Rodney. "You've made your preferences clear. My apologies for not wanting to hear the details as I, once again, lose out to a man in uniform."

"Again?"

"Colonel Carter loves General O'Neill. At least, with her, I had the excuse that she'd known him for years before meeting me."

"Colonel Carter and...?" she wondered thoughtfully. "Well, they have been through a lot together."

"_We've_ been through a lot together, and it hasn't meant a damn thing." She had never been his, and she never would be.

"Of course it means something!"

"Don't coddle me, Elizabeth." Having slipped, he paused to heft her higher onto his back. "Why do all the smart women go for the rugged, military types? Maybe you secretly like to dominate them? Not that I should talk. I'm like your lapdog. Kavanaugh has more balls than I do."

"Rodney!" Even with her admonishing tone, some untenable part of him relished the sound of her shouting his name into his ear. A spike of desire shot through him, and he hated himself for it.

"What? You disagree? I came here to control new technologies. You came here for the challenge or the adventure, or whatever it is that drove you. We both needed each other to get here and did what we had to to achieve our goals. Of course, you needed _him_, too. But personal ambition was never his motivation, and he challenged your authority while I stupidly supported you out of some fanciful sense of loyalty. A pacifist and a soldier, a diplomat and a rebel, a faithful woman and a playboy...almost poetic if it weren't so nauseatingly cliché. I'd never have guessed you were the opposites attract type. Maybe that's what makes him so appealing to you..."

"You have many appealing qualities-"

"You're coddling, again, Elizabeth. You don't normally coddle like that, you know. Keep it up, and you might make me think you feel sorry for me. I don't need your pity. I'm a scientist. Science is the one constant in my life, the one thing I can rely on, the reason I live. I should remain faithful to it and not waste my time being distracted by petty emotions, because in the end, none of it matters." None of his deepest feelings had ever been reciprocated by anyone. How could he have though that might change simply because he was in another galaxy?

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's true. _I _don't matter. _You_ don't matter. _He_ doesn't matter. All that matters is _Atlantis_. That's the way it should be--nice and simple, nothing personal, nothing that can hurt you but the Wraith."

"Rodney..."

"Oh, thank God! A transporter." The familiar double doors at the end of the hall felt like a little salvation. He picked up his pace, eager to escape his hellish predicament.

"Wait!" insisted Elizabeth.

"What on Earth for!" He didn't wait.

"We need to talk about this." How could she sound so put out? He was the victim, not her.

"What is there to talk about?"

"You can't just dump all this on me then pop back to the central tower."

"Watch me." He tapped the door control with an elbow.

"No!" She leaned back, making it more difficult to carry her and choking him at the same time. He nearly fell over.

"What do you want from me?" he coughed.

"I want Rodney back, the one I can talk to without having to make it an order."

"It's too late for that," he muttered, tapping the spot on the map that would take them to the transporter nearest the infirmary. "You've made your choice. You'll have to make do with Dr. McKay."

* * *

"Rodney! Dr. Weir! Where have you been?" Dr. Carson Beckett was surprised to see Rodney carrying a barefoot Dr. Weir piggyback into his infirmary, both covered by dust. They'd been out of radio contact for over an hour and had caused a bit of a stir among those in the control room. 

"Out for a romantic stroll," Rodney replied drily. Despite his tone, he carefully deposited Elizabeth on the first open bed. "Dr. Weir hurt her ankle."

Carson closed the privacy curtain and began gingerly flexing her foot. "Why didn't you radio for help?"

"The radios were out," they answered in unison. Keeping himself turned away, Rodney ran a restless hand through his hair and sighed, dropping Dr. Weir's shoes beside the bed.

"How did that happen?"

"You can read a report about it later." The Canadian had been increasingly terse ever since he'd come in complaining about chest pains.

The tension between Rodney and Dr. Weir was so intense, Carson had little doubt as to the cause of his friend's aliments. The telltale tear tracks among the streaks of sweat on Rodney's grimy face settled the issue. Regardless, he wasn't about to let it distract him from his job. "All right, then... How are you feeling, Dr. Weir?"

"Well enough, all things considered." Usually she was very careful to look at the person she was addressing, but her uncertain gaze was over his shoulder.

The hiss of the privacy curtain being drawn back caused Carson to turn only to see Rodney receding back. "Where are you going?"

"For a meal and a shower." With that, he was gone.

Carson stared after Rodney for a moment before closing the curtain again. After attempting to wipe the worry from his face, he turned back to Dr. Weir, but her keen sense of perception was one of the reasons she was in charge of the expedition.

"What's wrong?"

He tried indignation as a cover for his concern. "You two come into my infirmary in a terrible state with no explanation, then one of you walks out before I can examine you both." He smiled and wagged a finger at her like she was a naughty child. "Since _you_ can't get away from me before I have a good look, I think I'll let the other one go for now."

She returned his smile. "You prefer a captive audience?"

Considering what she had so recently gone through to gain a pair of Genii atomic bombs, it was a rather odd turn of phrase. "Not the words I would use," he cringed while examining her ankle, "though it is nice when my patients actually listen to the wisdom of their physician." His thoughts returned to the last time Teyla and Lieutenant Ford had been in his care. Worrying about the Wraith was bad enough; he'd had quite enough of people attacking him in his own infirmary.

"What happened to Ford isn't your fault." Her reassuring words were appreciated, but it did nothing quell his inner doubts.

"Not at first, but perhaps if I had been more rigorous in my treatment..." The Scotsman sighed. He was a surgeon; he'd learned to handle life and death situations. There was little point to "what if"s. "I should have learned my lesson the first time he got away from me."

"You did what you thought best," she insisted quietly.

What she'd thought best had nearly cost everyone their lives and put the city on the brink of destruction; he could only imagine what such responsibility was like. "Our best is all we can ever do." Time to change the subject. "And the best thing for that ankle right now is ice. I'll be right back."

By the time he returned with what he needed, Dr. Weir had removed her stained jacket, dusted off her pants, tidied her hair and snitched some wipes from a nearby medical try to clean her face and hands. Aside from her grooming, her expression had changed from sympathetic to serious.

Setting the crutches aside, he tried to lighten the mood. "I'm thinking it's nothing major. A few days on these and you'll be fine."

Her expression remained subdued. "Carson, I'd like to talk to you about Rodney."

"On an official capacity or a personal one?" He tried to keep the dubiousness out of his voice.

She gave him a calculating look and answered mildly but firmly, "A little of both."

Placing the ice pack on her ankle, he responded, equally serious. "So long as you don't ask me to break doctor-patient confidentiality."

This gained him a raised eyebrow. No doubt she was wondering what medical knowledge of Rodney he was keeping from her. "I'll try not to."

"Take these." Carson passed her a pair of Tylenol and a cup then pulled up a stool. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Don't you think he's been acting..." She gestured vaguely with her hands; it made him think of Rodney, "differently lately?"

"I think everyone's been acting differently lately, and with good reason," he replied neutrally.

"He hasn't seemed withdrawn to you?"

He shifted uneasily on his stool. "Are you sure it's me you should be talking to and not Dr. Heightmeyer?"

Dr. Weir gave a mirthless laugh. "Kate would have thrown me out of her office by now."

"But since you're my patient at the moment, I'm a captive audience," he conceded. What to do? "He made no secret of how little he slept those weeks. You don't overcome that kind of sleep deprivation in a fortnight, least of all at our age."

"Granted," she nodded, "but that doesn't explain his suddenly becoming a recluse."

"Perhaps he's catching up on sleep."

Her look implied she didn't think he believed it anymore than she did. "Dr. Zelenka is covering at least half of his meetings. No one seems to be able to get a hold of him. It's beginning to become an issue."

She wanted answers to Rodney's behavioral problems because it was a bureaucratic inconvenience? Carson tried to dissuade himself from the unflattering notion but couldn't.

"If you think he needs medical leave..."

Her brow furrowed in frustration. "That's not what I mean. I want to know if you know why he has become this way."

"He does not speak of such things," Carson replied flatly, his own brow furrowing, "and it's not my place to speculate."

"Damn it, Carson, don't stonewall me." She almost never swore. "Is it some male solidarity thing or-"

"It isn't." His tone left no room for debate and gained him another raised eyebrow.

Switching tracks again, she asked, "Haven't you noticed he has lost weight?"

"Yes."

"Well, if something is bothering him enough to affect his weight, shouldn't we do something about it?"

As though any physician had ever found a cure for Rodney's current malady.

"If you think it's a personal issue that's bothering Rodney, why don't you just ask him yourself?"

"Because he won't sit still long enough to exchange three sentences with him!" Drawing in a slow breath, she let it out in a huff. Then she chewed on her thumbnail, another habit she unconsciously shared with Rodney. "What if I told you that while he was carrying me here he accused me of being unfaithful to someone back home."

"Have you been?" He asked it simply, without accusation.

She waved the notion away. "That's not the point."

"Seems it's a point to him."

"The point is," she sighed, "he acted jealous, as though he..."

"Loves you?"

At those words, her face became a well-schooled mask. "Did you know?" Was that a hint of hurt in her voice?

"A man with as many walls as that, how can even _he_ be sure?"

But that didn't answer her question, and she wasn't about to let him off the hook. "Did you suspect?"

"Aye. You didn't?"

She shook her head. Unconvinced by her denial, he turned away but not quickly enough.

"You don't believe me?" He had never heard her sound defensive before.

With a sigh, he turned back and put a hand on her shoulder. "Lass, in this, what I do or don't believe does not matter in the least."

He wasn't proud of it, but Carson had little sympathy for Dr. Weir in this circumstance. The evidence supported the rumors he'd heard about her and Major Sheppard. Although he would never think to deny her her feelings, he found himself disappointed in her. She was normally such a conscientious and evenhanded leader; it wasn't right for her to focus so much attention on one person. Oh, she had made the rounds, patting shoulders, offering brief words of encouragement and praise, but no one had gotten the same kind of consideration as the Major. There was no disputing the Major had been willing to give his life to protect the city, but ultimately, his sacrifice would have been in vain were it not for Rodney and Dr. Zelenka. If Major Sheppard deserved special treatment, what about them? Their efforts had not only saved the city but landed both of them in the infirmary for it. Worse, her Chief of Science, responsible for the work of dozens of others, was plainly hurting, and it had taken a week before she'd noticed, guessed why or tried to act on it. To not reciprocate Rodney's feelings was one thing, but for her to be completely unaware of them was difficult to believe and more difficult to sympathize with. Carson was already torn between wanting to console Rodney, wanting to try and snap him out of it and wanting to keep the hell out of the whole mess. Despite his healer's instincts, he didn't want to become more involved; this wasn't something he was qualified to cure.

Ironically, it was Major Sheppard who rescued Carson from his unfortunate quandary.

"Elizabeth?"

"Over here," answered Carson, pulling back the privacy curtain and plastering a smile on his face. There wasn't much point to the smile, though; the Major barely glanced at him before his gaze moved to Dr. Weir.

"I heard McKay was spotted carrying you to the infirmary." His hand reached out to her, but he stopped halfway though as though self conscious of a public display of concern. "What happened?"

"Rodney got the disposal working." Dr. Weir's tone was so light you'd never guess how serious she'd been just moments earlier. In response to the Major's raised eyebrows, she added. "We fell in."

"Are you okay?"

"Other than twisting my ankle..." She gestured to the offending appendage.

"It's nothing serious," Carson clarified, "just a few days on crutches."

"What about McKay?" He looked around as though expecting the astrophysicist to be nearby.

When Dr. Weir didn't answer, Carson explained, "Rodney seems fine, Major. He left to freshen up."

"Nothing like being dumped in a pile of garbage to make you appreciate a hot shower."

It was such an unlikely thing for her to say, and her tone was so uncharacteristically acerbic, both men were at a loss for words.

"So what's the verdict, doctor?" she asked.

He blinked. Back to business. Putting his hands behind his back, Carson instinctively struck his air of authority pose. "Keep off that ankle; keep me informed as to how you're doing; come back tomorrow to have it wrapped. Otherwise, you're free to go."

"Thank you. " She nodded and bent down to grab her right shoe and put it on. "I'll see you in the morning." Snatching the crutches, she adjusted them and limped out of the infirmary.

Major Sheppard gave him a puzzled look, and Carson just shrugged. If Rodney hadn't discussed it and the Major hadn't figured it out, he certainly wasn't about to say anything. Oddly, he didn't feel the same dissatisfaction toward the lanky American that he did toward Dr. Weir. The Major had never been as close to Rodney as she had, nor was he as seasoned an observer of human behavior as the leader of their expedition. Besides, it was her decision in the end. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps male solidarity did have something to do with it. Either way, Carson wanted nothing better than to forget it all and relax with a pint of Athosian mead--a far tastier drink than the cat piss from the Daedalus they were passing off as beer--but he still had another three hours until his shift was over. With a sigh, he retreated to his office and sent out a silent prayer for his heartbroken friend. If anyone needed divine guidance, it was Rodney McKay.


	3. Chemicals

NOTES: Thank you for all the reviews! Sorry for the delay, but life and computer problems conspired against the final chapter of this sad little fic. Just a reminder, this is set before returning to Earth. I've had the first scene done for ages; it was just a matter of covering all the later points in a way that made sense. Anyway, first it was Teyla, then Carson. Now, it's Zelenka's turn. Considering the last line of part two, it might seem like I'm suggesting our favorite Czech is divine...but I'm not. McWeir fans be warned. PurpleYin, thank you for betaing this.

DISCLAIMER: _Stargate: Atlantis_ and all things associated with it belong to other people.

SPOILERS: through The Siege, Part III

RATING: T

* * *

JUST FRIENDS 

CHEMICALS

Rodney's lab was his inner sanctum, his private sanctuary, and few had the privilege to trespass there without exposing themselves to a severe McKay tongue-lashing. Dr. Radek Zelenka was one of those few. Many of their projects overlapped, and Rodney's possessive nature required Radek to occasionally work in the Canadian's lab if he wanted access to certain devices and materials. Over the course of his professional career, Radek had dealt with many men like Rodney, though none had actually merited their egos before. His experience had taught the Czech to have a tough skin. Combined with his knowledge and skill, he had become a valued colleague to his current Chief of Science. Although Radek could hardly say he knew the man's mind, he would hazard to call himself a friend, as much as such men had friends. They were on a first-name basis, and their time working together had given him enough insight into the astrophysicist's personality to know his moods, not that they were particularly difficult to read. The look on Rodney's face as he entered the lab told Radek now was not a time for idle talk, or any talk, so he merely nodded and said, "Rodney."

"Radek." Hair damp, presumably from a shower, Rodney crossed the room to his laptop, sat down on a swiveling stool, placed a bottle of water beside his computer and, with no more recognition of the other man's presence, got to work.

Since the battle with the Wraith, Radek had observed many changes in Rodney. His naturally officious demeanor had become subdued. Not only had he delegated authority to Radek, Rodney had stopped wearing his radio and visiting the labs of others to review their work in person, all in direct conflict with his controlling nature. Despite being one of the most energized and animated people Radek had ever met, Rodney had grown lethargic and laconic. Normally a robust eater, the Canadian's appetite had diminished to the point of visible weight loss. The transformation was disturbing but understandable. The man was working through withdrawal from stimulant addiction, a fate Radek had narrowly escaped himself. Worse, while visiting Miklos in the infirmary, Radek had accidentally overheard Rodney discussing chest pains with Dr. Beckett. Rodney had asked Radek about Dr. Weir's reaction to the return of Major Sheppard, and he had heard Rodney call her name while asleep at his desk. So, unlike the physician, Radek had had no doubt as to the source of his friend's affliction.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. Their success against the Wraith had been nothing short of miraculous, and in spite of a Wraith illusion causing Miklos to be caught by friendly fire, all of Radek's countrymen had survived. They now had a connection back to Earth after believing they might be stranded in Pegasus forever. It should have been a time of celebration. Yet the man responsible for their survival was suffering in silence, and there was nothing Radek or anyone could do to help. In lieu of a better course of action, Radek had accepted the responsibilities Rodney had cast aside and did what he could to protect his CoS's privacy, allowing him to work without disruptions as often as possible. He accepted Rodney's desire to throw himself into science because he, too, had once survived a broken heart by burying himself in work.

Half an hour passed in peace, with only the sound of the quiet clacking of computer keys. Then Major John Sheppard stormed into the lab without invitation.

"McKay." There was a taut quality to his voice. The tall American was so focused on Rodney that it seemed he hadn't noticed Radek was in the room.

Rodney didn't bother to turn away from his laptop. "Yes, Major?" His reply was dismissive.

"I just talked with Elizabeth."

"I'm so very happy for you."

Neither of them noticed Radek look up from his work nor the frown that crossed his brow. At lunch, he had overheard the chatter of a couple of Control staffers and suspected something unusual had happened during Rodney's time near the West Pier. But what could have provoked this confrontation?

"Look, we need to talk."

"Not now." The astrophysicist waved one hand in a shooing motion. "I'm busy."

"Doing _what_?" demanded the Major.

"Something very important. Something I need _quiet_ to concentrate on."

"Last time I checked, the city wasn't about to sink."

At this, Rodney briefly looked up from his computer but didn't turn to face Major Sheppard. "The city needs to be in imminent peril for me to be doing something important? Please, Major, you'll give me a big head."

"What is _wrong_ with you, McKay?"

Returning his focus to his laptop, he spoke with grim certainty, "...You don't want to know."

"I wouldn't be _asking_ if I didn't want to know." There was more than exasperation in the statement.

"Of course you would, so you can console yourself with the fact you've tried." If Rodney was attempting to speak lightly, he was failing. "Now that you've tried, would you please leave?"

The Major crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbed Rodney by the shoulder to swung him around. Putting his free hand on Rodney's other shoulder, he gave the man a shake. "_Tell me what the hell is going on!_"

"Let me go, Major, and get out of my lab," he said quietly, coldly.

"I've already lost one member of my team." Voice strained, the Major gave him another shake. "I'm not about to lose another!"

Rodney's eyes widened briefly before returning to their icy glare, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, Radek placed an arm between them.

"Major, let go of him." He used his most mild and reasonable tone.

"I don't need your help," hissed Rodney.

The Czech glanced over his shoulder. "Yes, because you are doing so well by yourself." Returning his gaze to the Major, Radek said calmly but firmly, "This is Dr. McKay's lab, and he has asked you to leave." Placing his hands on the larger man's shoulders, Radek gave him a slight push.

The Major let go and took a step back. "We'll discuss this later."

"I'd rather we didn't." The earlier glibness had returned to Rodney's voice.

"Please, Major." Radek gestured toward the door. "Tato jeden," he muttered as the Major left.

"I didn't need your help," insisted Rodney.

Folding his arms across his chest, he turned to face his friend with a lightly mocking tone. "Which would you prefer? Should I bring the Major back so you can convince him to leave yourself or should we get back to work?"

The Canadian opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. Closing his mouth with a nod, he swiveled back to his laptop.

By the time Radek had finished analyzing the readings he'd been studying, the shadows from the lab's window had grown long, and the light was rich with sunset hues. Shutting down his computer, he crossed the room to his friend's side. "Come. Let us have dinner."

Rodney looked up from his laptop, blinking with a cross expression, like a child awakened from a sound sleep. "You're not my mother."

The scruffy scientist held up both hands in acquiescence. "I would not presume to be your keeper, but this does not mean I can not be looking out for your best interest. When did you last eat?"

There was a flash of pain in his eyes, and he looked back to his laptop. "What does it matter?"

"It matters because when you do not eat regularly, you become unpleasant, and _I_ have to deal with the consequences. Fed Rodney is much better. So if you will not eat for your own sake, do it as a favor for me."

There was a rumble from Rodney's stomach, and he glanced at the lab window, as though it might back up his resistance. After a final look at his computer, Rodney sighed, shut down the files he'd been working on and said, "Fine."

"Podivuhodny!"

The walk from Rodney's lab to the dining hall was not particularly long; Radek was able to fill it with a one-sided ramble about the projects of his team, avoiding talk of the meetings he was leading in Rodney's stead. A few people raised eyebrows at this, now rare, public appearance of their CoS, but wisely, no one said anything to them directly. After filling their trays with food, they found an empty table in a corner. Rodney kept his back to the room, which suited Radek. That way, with a shake of his head, he could warn off anyone foolish enough to approach the CoS.

Atlantis' food selection had grown exponentially since the arrival of the Daedalus, yet Radek couldn't help but notice Rodney picked the plainest, simplest choices of the evening's options--bread, potato soup, a banana and jello. His portions were also uninspired, but at least he was eating.

While the walk there had been easy enough to fill, dinner conversation proved more difficult. There was only so much Radek could talk about without a response from Rodney. He instinctively sensed he should avoid asking for details concerning the West Pier's industrial disposal system, but searching for safe topics was like navigating a minefield--almost any subject could lead back to Dr. Weir or the Major. Morbidly, they ended up discussing the success rates of various weapons against Wraith Darts. Radek made sure they kept at it until Rodney had finished his modest meal.

As they made their way back to Rodney's lab, Radek decided it was time to do something about his CoS' mental state. Normally, this was a part of Dr. Weir's and Dr. Heightmeyer's jobs, but they were clearly no longer fit to deal with the temperamental Canadian. No one else seemed to have the ability or the will to even try, so he might as well. It was the least he could do for this man who had been to vital to the survival of the expedition and city. "There is something I have been meaning to show you."

Rodney's brow briefly furrowed in uncertainty. "I haven't read any reports-"

"Nor would you," smiled Radek with a shrug. "It is of no scientific value." He leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "And it is a secret."

Blinking, Rodney's expression wavered from suspicion to curiosity, settling at last on indifference. "It's not the still, is it?"

It was Radek's turn to be suspicious. "You know about the still?"

"None of your team members are chemists, so the equipment acquisition request was a bit obvious."

"Yet you did not stop us." Radek knew it was more than that. Dr. Weir had never found out, which could only mean Rodney had not run the request past her for approval.

Rodney shrugged. "I didn't see the point. You would have found a way with or without me rubber stamping the request. Besides, I figured it would be safer if you used our equipment than jury-rigging something with scraps pulled from the city. There's been no explosion or disorderly behavior as a result, so I'm not worried about it."

"You know but you have not asked for a sample."

"I have coffee." Looking away, his hand restlessly settled on the water bottle clipped to his belt. "One addiction is enough."

Uncertain how talk of the still had led his friend to darker thoughts, Radek decided to try to turn the conversation back on course. "It is not the still, but I promise that, afterward, you will feel refreshed." Rodney was still hesitant. "An hour is all I ask. What harm could come from it? You might even enjoy yourself."

With a nod, Rodney followed Radek as he made his way to a transporter.

"Where are we going?"

"Did I not say it is a secret? Will you keep it?"

"Depends on what it is."

Radek huffed. "Why can you not just say, 'Yes'?"

"Who would say 'yes' to a keeping secret they don't know yet?"

"Someone with a little faith and trust and humor, but I suppose that is asking too much." He wanted to kick himself for his outburst, no matter how mockingly he'd said it, but Rodney seemed to take it well enough.

"Fine," declared the Canadian as they stepped into the transporter. "I'll keep it a secret."

"Jasný." Radek pushed the appropriate spot on the map, and the doors opened to a distant part of the city, a residential area that hadn't been well explored because of its lack of tactical and scientific value. "This way."

"What's that for?" Ever observant, Rodney had noticed the power cable running along the ground from the transporter's external power control unit.

"It is nothing to worry about." The Czech dismissed it with a wave. "You will see."

Being an empty residential area, there was no power, but there was an abundance of windows for light. The walk was a fairly scenic one, with plenty of details to keep his friend occupied. When they were more than halfway to their destination, Radek decided it was time to "talk turkey" as Lieutenant Ford used to occasionally say. By waiting, he would have the excuse that their destination was closer than the transporter, should Rodney decide he'd rather turn back than face discussion. Perhaps, if he were oblique enough about his questions, it wouldn't come to that.

When his CoS came to the end of an observation about the area's civil engineering, Radek took the plunge. "I have been meaning to ask you something." He kept his voice light, but Rodney stiffened.

"What?"

"Do you want to stay in Atlantis?"

It was not what the Canadian had been expecting. "What kind of question is that?"

"One it seems you are not wanting to answer."

"I've nearly been killed a dozen different ways protecting this city." His friend seemed torn between indignation and disbelief. "How could you ask me something like that?"

"It is _because_ you have nearly been killed a dozen different ways that I ask. You have done enough. There would be no shame in returning to Earth permanently." Dr. Weir and the Major would be staying, so leaving Atlantis would be the best option for escaping a broken heart. "You would not be the only one." Tough, to be fair, there were only a handful going back.

Rodney's hands flew up in the air. "Are you _insane_? We've spent so much time just trying to survive that we've barely scratched the surface of this city's potential. Let someone _else_ be in charge of those discoveries? I don't think so!"

Knowing Atlantis was more important to his CoS than personal issues was a significant piece of information. "So that means you want to stay in Atlantis?" It was important to be completely clear about it.

"_Yes_, it means I want to stay in Atlantis." Rodney's voice changed from exasperated to suspicious. "Why? Do you have plans to become the next CoS?"

"It is the possibility of becoming CoS that worries me. I have had taste enough of your job to not be wanting it. Kavanaugh alone-"

"Don't get me started on Kavanaugh!"

Radek huffed appreciatively. "Why is it he is not one of those returning to Earth?"

"Because that might make our lives too easy and upset the balance of good fortune."

They both laughed at this. It had been the first laughter he'd heard from Rodney in weeks.

"Here we are," he announced, activating a door as they came to the end of the cable. "Welcome to our little secret." He motioned Rodney inside.

"What is this place?"

"Is it not obviously a pool?" The far wall and half of the roof were were covered in clear Ancient glass that offered a spectacular view of the city and filled the room with a dim glow as the last of the sun's rays painted the upper atmosphere purple.

"Of course it's a pool, but how did you find it and how do you keep it a secret?"

Activating the pool's systems, Radek illuminated the five by ten meter body of water, casting an ever-changing liquid pattern of light across the walls and ceiling. "It was discovered by Lida and Kamil on a survey shortly after the attack. It requires only the smallest amount of energy to maintain-"

"And the insulated wires prevent your power theft-"

"Ah-ah!" he wagged a finger at his friend, "It is not theft. The power belongs to everyone, yes? There are four of us who use it, but I would say this takes no more than three times the power of your synthesizer."

"How do you know about my synthesizer?" The question was quick and defensive.

He chuckled. It was good to have Rodney acting more like himself, if only for a little while. "I know many things. But this issue of power use, it is moot, I think. We all have our personal consumption, yes?"

"Fine. So you're not stealing. Why do you need to be so secretive about it?"

"This pool is much too small for as many people as we now have in Atlantis. Another will be found eventually. So why not keep this one for ourselves, at least as long as we can. If they knew about it, do you not think the Australians would try to take control?"

Contemplating the pool as he paced around it, Rodney held up a thoughtful finger without looking at Radek. "You have a point."

"So, want to give it a try?"

His friend's expression was priceless. The combination of hopeful and uncertain gave a glimpse of the tender child Rodney must have once been, for such a crusty exterior usually hid a vulnerable inside. Surely his reaction to the Major and Dr. Weir's relationship was evidence enough to prove it. But despite his apparent interest, Rodney demurred. "I didn't bring swim trunks."

Sitting on a bench, Radek snorted as he began pulling off his shoes. "Who did? You wear boxers. They will do." During their first days on Atlantis, public showers were all they could manage until Peter had fully reactivated the city's desalinization plant and water pump programs. Rodney hadn't been particularly shy, even when bathing with Marines, but just in case, he added, "Lida and the others had a swim this morning, so I have it all to myself this evening."

He had heard Dr. Beckett tell Rodney to exercise. Swimming was not only a good workout but soothing as well, and exercise released chemicals that stimulated the pleasure receptors of the brain. Radek could only imagine his friend was in dire need of both.

"Is the water clean?"

Radek rolled his eyes. "You do not need a chemist to maintain a little pool like this. Do you not smell the chlorine?"

"Another questionable appropriation of resources."

"Would you have us waste the energy evaporating the pool to get it back? Why not just enjoy it?" Thankfully, Rodney consented to the idea and began getting undressed. Radek merely rolled up his pant legs and sat on the edge, dangling his legs in the water.

"You're not going to swim?"

Radek grinned in embarrassment. "I do not swim so much as sink."

Surprisingly, Rodney nodded. "I remember a kid like that in summer camp. The swim instructor kept trying to get him to float, but no matter what he did, he sank. It was uncanny. He nearly drowned in trying to do as the instructor said." He seemed oblivious to the parallel between his story and current situation. Radek caught a glimpse of pure bliss as Rodney slipped into the heated water. "So if you can't swim, why do you come?"

"It's quiet, private, secret, a good place to just sit and think." He held up a hand to the glass wall. "And the view is spectacular. Coming here is like a little vacation."

Rodney began a lazy backstroke, proving himself to be as agile in the water as he was on land. "I might be getting as much as a week of it when we gate back to Earth."

Relieved to hear his friend thinking about the future, Radek pursued the topic. "When you return, who do you want to see?"

"Why? Who would you see?"

"Milácku," he replied without thought.

"Your what?"

Radek wanted to slap himself--this was no time to discuss his own love life. Fortunately, Rodney had a poor grasp of Czech, so Radek improvised. "My darling sister." Rodney had mentioned his own sister when he'd thought he would die from the nano-virus. Perhaps it could turn the conversation to potentially positive relationships and thus help counter the misery of the one currently dominating his CoS's mind.

"For her sake, I hope she has better hair than you," snorted Rodney.

He kicked a leg to splash at the man as he swam past. "I can only hope the same can be said of _your_ sister."

"What's wrong with my hair?" In an unconscious act of vanity, the Canadian stopped swimming to run his hands through his short hair as though trying to find a flaw. There was no denying the CoS' catlike fastidiousness regarding his appearance.

It was impossible not to laugh. "Where to begin?"

Scowling, Rodney splashed at him and continued swimming. "I'll have you know Jeannie is quite attractive, or she was the last time I saw her, anyway."

"And when was that?"

"Before I started working for the Air Force, about..." he got that far-off look that indicated he was putting effort into his thought, "five years ago."

From stray comments made during their time working together, Radek was aware his friend's family life was both complicated and unhappy, but unlike his feelings for Dr. Weir, he had actually spoken of it openly. Besides, it offered more potential than merely trying to distract him with science--that could be done in the comfort of a lab. "So long?"

"I traveled a lot for work," was the defensive reply.

"You still do, Rodney. You still do."

Stopping at the far end of the pool, his friend stared silently at the city and the Daedalus moored to the distant East Pier. Then, in an abrupt but fluid movement, he submerged himself, kicked off the side and pivoted, traversing the length of the pool completely underwater. Reaching the near end, he repeated the process, then again until, at last, he came up, gasping for air. Grabbing the bottle of water next to his clothes, Rodney drained it then returned to his lazy backstroke as though he'd done nothing unusual.

"Been to the Daedalus?"

Radek was surprised at the conversational initiative. He would not tell Rodney the truth--none of the Atlantis scientists had been to the Daedalus. Regardless of Dr. Weir's opinion on the matter, the Daedalus' crew was perfectly capable of repairing their own ship; indeed, they were expressly trained to do so. The scientists of Atlantis had been working exclusively with Ancient and Earth technology for nearly a year. Not only were they completely unfamiliar with Asgard systems, those systems were a secret of the US military. Any help from the multinational expedition members would be an inconvenience and highly unappreciated. Even though Radek, himself, longed to see the Asgard propulsion systems, some part of him insisted Rodney have the privilege of being the first. There was plenty of work to do around the city, so whenever someone asked about a visit to the Daedalus, he assigned them another task to keep them busy.

"No," he said simply. Knowing the answer already, he asked, "You?"

"Not yet."

"I hear they have an Asgard."

"Hermiod."

"What?"

"That's the Asgard's name," the CoS clarified. "Having one of their own onboard was the only way the Asgard would commit to sharing some of their systems."

"Then it is fortunate for us such a deal was made." Radek nodded. "I have not even seen a Wraith. I wonder what it's like to meet a being that is not human."

Rodney paused in his swimming to give him a curious frown. "You've never seen a Wraith?"

"Only pictures."

"How is it you've never seen a Wraith?"

"Luck?" He shrugged. "I was never in a place they targeted for attack, though I do not understand why they seemed to have no interest the Jumper bay or chair room, only the generators."

The astrophysicist returned to his backstroke. "I think they didn't know about the chair room's location, and the Jumper bay is too close to the Gateroom to reach without notice."

"That makes sense." He let silence lap over them for a moment before asking, "So, are you planning on touring the Daedalus anytime soon?"

"No point. I'll have nearly three weeks to do that on the return trip from Earth."

The others would be disappointed, but they came here to explore the city, not an Earth/Asgard hybrid ship. Besides, there were still dozens of systems and programs of the Puddle Jumpers they had yet to unravel, let alone all they might find in the unexplored vastness of the city.

"Have you put any thought into who you want to bring back with you?" Any topic that reminded Rodney of his own self-worth, of his autonomous authority and responsibility, separate from Dr. Weir's, was a topic worth pursuing.

"I have a few people in mind. Why? Is there someone you'd recommend?"

"No, though I think we underestimated how many computer specialists we would be needing." Uncomfortable with bringing up a subject that might remind Rodney of the tragic loss of their friend, Peter, Radek added, "And we could definitely do with a few more botanists. We should not become dependent on the Daedalus to keep us fed."

"I'd been thinking about that, myself." There was a spark of enthusiasm in his CoS' eyes. "It makes no sense that a city this size would have no means of feeding itself. Atlantis was once in Antarctica during a period when everything was as frozen as it is now, the nearest arable land over a thousand kilometers away. So how did they feed themselves? Perhaps there's a long buried store of farm equipment on the mainland the Daedalus' scanners somehow can't detect, but with only Puddle Jumpers to transport food for a population large enough to fill a city this size, that seems unlikely, though perhaps larger transport ships were converted to fight the Wraith."

"Many Ancient recipes include fish, so there may have been aquatic farms," suggested Radek.

"We've found Ancient recipe files?"

"Just prior to the evacuation. I heard this from one of the Control room staff but had forgotten."

Rodney paused in his disbelief. "Who was researching Ancient cooking with the Wraith on the way?"

"No one," scoffed Radek. "My understanding is that the discovery was accidental."

"Oh." The Canadian resumed his backstroke.

The silence stretched long enough for Radek to wonder if Rodney had moved beyond the topic of Atlantis' food supply. With no other ideas to discuss, he said nothing, giving his friend the luxury of undisturbed quiet. At last, the big man stopped at the far end to contemplate the amazing view.

"I think there must still be vital parts of Atlantis we have yet to discover." He seemed to be speaking to the city as much as to Radek, his voice so hushed and hopeful it was barely recognizable as Rodney's. "Places where food can be raised. If we can find them, use them, Atlantis could become self sufficient. No more risking lives and exposure by having to bargain with others for basic needs. If we can find that and a means of creating drones... And there must be other Jumpers. Eight ships and one bay for a city this size seems ridiculously few. We just haven't found the rest. If we can have the time to discover what we need without being broken by the Wraith, then Atlantis can live again, and I'm going to make sure it does." It was like some sacred pledge. The conviction in his voice reassured Radek that, like the city rising from the depths, Rodney McKay would rise once more to the challenge of his work. The splendor of Atlantis was too grand to be completely overshadowed by heartache.

Besides, what better way to honor those who had died? Rodney had been changed by the unexpected deaths of Gaul and Abrams, and those had only been the first of his people to perish. Despite his completely selfish desire to live during the course of the nano-virus' lethal spread, the Canadian took each loss of life personally, as though it was his fault, something for which he had to make amends. Equally important, they were an affront to his ego--careful planning should prevent any death that didn't involve the randomness of battle, yet before the Wraith attack, more scientists had lost their lives than members of the military. It was a difficult fact to face, one they all had to struggle with.

In another nimble move, Rodney darted underwater to the near end of the pool, pulling himself out of it and to his feet in one smooth motion. Grabbing a towel from the bench, he began drying off. Radek joined him, rolling down his pants and putting his shoes back on.

Shutting off the lights and exiting the pool room in silence, they were cast into an ethereal world of shadows and starlight. It was one of the aspects of night visits to the pool Radek enjoyed. The designs here were different from the parts of the city they inhabited, and walking through the twilight halls was as close to an evening stroll though a park as he'd come in over a year. He'd never even been to the mainland. Sometimes he really missed trees.

When they reached the transporter, Radek cleared his throat. "So. I want to be sure there are always enough towels. Do you think you will make use of the pool again?"

"Yeah." Rodney nodded with a small smile and pressed a spot on the map. "I think I will."

The doors opened to the hall between the main labs and cafeteria. Too his surprise, Rodney turned with him toward the stairs that led to the living quarters.

"Calling it a day?"

"I think one major accomplishment in 24 hours is enough." Radek took this to mean he'd been successful with his scientific task near the West Pier, even if he had been unsuccessful at whatever personal event had occurred there. "If they need me, they know where to find me." Radek didn't bother telling him he'd instructed Control to contact him instead of Rodney for anything urgent.

They reached a juncture in the halls and went their separate ways. "See you tomorrow." The Canadian waved over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Good night, Rodney." He could only hope, between the visit to the pool and a reasonable meal, that might actually be the case. It was hardly a solution to heartbreak, but it was a step in the right direction. His friend had survived so much already; he would survive this, too. After all, Atlantis awaited.

FIN

* * *

I don't know Czech, so apologies if I got it wrong. This is what I was shooting for: 

Tato jeden. What a mess.

Podivuhodny! Wonderful!

Jasný. Good.

Milácku. My darling. (He said, "Drz si, milácku." in Letters from Pegasus.)


End file.
